


Maxwell's Silver Hammer

by SBlackmane



Series: Midnight Madness [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And Bull Making Everything Sound Dirty...hehe, Anger Management, Beating, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Just Flogging, Maxwell's A Dick, No Sex, No Smut, Nonsexual Kink Negotiation, POV Iron Bull, Qunari Culture and Customs, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/pseuds/SBlackmane
Summary: (Inspired by the Beatles song)Post-Adamant, Bull's feeling a little off, and needs to get his head back on straight. But after his "Qunari training exercise" goes a little awry, Maxwell makes Bull an offer he finds most intriguing. A way to get him back in the game, more or less.But Bull's always been in control in these types of situations, and that's not what Max has in mind.





	Maxwell's Silver Hammer

**Author's Note:**

> Did I say this was inspired by a song? Oh, what I meant was I listened to that song repeatedly while writing this. Abbey Road is the absolute shit, and I love that album.
> 
> Hope I didn't fuck this up. Did my research beforehand but I took some creative liberties as well.

"Again," Bull grunted.

The Seeker complied with a swift hit with the club, but it wasn't hard enough.

"Again," he pressed, growling in frustration.

Once more the blow came, but it was still too light for Bull's taste.

"Urgh! Come on! This is why the Qun doesn't like women fighting! I should've asked Cullen!"

Cassandra sneered at the insult, and for a moment, Bull thought he had it right there, that his goading had finally pushed her far enough (which it did) when she snarled and bashed him with the club, right square across the jaw, knocking him on his ass, in a daze.

Not _quite_ what he was aiming for though.

"Good one," he groaned, and heard the Seeker drop the club with a huff.

Adamant.

He still wasn't over it.

A complete shit show, and Bull had been front and center to the whole thing. Chased after the Warden-Commander and that sniveling Tevinter shit named Erimond when that damned blight dragon showed up and knocked them all off a bridge and where did they land? Smack dab in the raw Fade. In the flesh. And in the middle of that fucking Nightmare's lair, of all places. Had to listen to that bastard taunt them for hours.

Bull was still getting past the whole experience. Others too. He wasn't the only one rattled by the demon, and they all took to their own ways of moving on after what happened to them. Sera fell flat on her ass drunk for a long while. Drank so much she made a real mess of herself, and on herself too. Dorian bribed Josephine for all the chocolate Skyhold had in supply, and sat around with some vintage or other and read books.

Bull didn't know how the Boss handled the whole experience though, hadn't had the chance to speak to him yet.

But the Ben-Hassrath agent presently worked through the shit with being hit by something.

They all had gravestones in the Fade. Found them when they were searching for a way out. Fucked up type of shit that was put there specifically for the purpose of messing with their minds. Written on the gravestones was their deepest fear. Everybody had one. But...not Max. Well, he had a gravestone, but it was blank. Weird. All it said was his name, above a blank space. Hawke commented on it, saying, "Well, guess you're not afraid of anything."

The Boss ignored him, and everyone else's shit comments and urged them all to keep finding a way out of the Fade. But Bull never stopped thinking about the way he reacted to that blank space. The look in his eyes, like cold had settled over him, and the way he flexed his jaw, nostrils flaring. A telltale sign that he was afraid, of _something_. But no one knew what. And now, weeks later, Bull was still thinking about his own battle with fear.

So he asked Cassandra to hit him, and she humored him, but after that insult, and the strike to Bull's jaw in recompense, she was done. Bull grunted from the ground, then opened his good eye to see a new face coming into view, just as she was tossing the club at his feet. His eye raked over black hair, a mean scar slashed over one eye, and a stubbled jaw that flexed a little before lips pulled up in an amused smirk staring down at him. _Max_.

"Perhaps you can take over," Cassandra suggested to the Inquisitor, who made a hmph sound in response.

 _Oh, fuck yeah_ , Bull thought. _Now this is what I'm talking about._ Max could deal some blows. He fought with a two-handed hammer every damned day, and Bull had seen him knock down really big shit with it too. Max was perfect for this sort of thing, Bull wagered. He dragged himself to his feet and looked down at the impressive human that strode up to him. Max quirked a dark brow.

"Qunari training exercise, to master your fear," Bull explained. "Been a while since I needed it. But that Nightmare demon was-" he exhaled. "...Big."

"Hmph," Max repeated, then picked up the club. "Alright then," he shrugged.

Then, without another word, he swung.

See, Bull knew the second he felt the hit connect that this day was not going to go according to plan. Because when Max swung and that club connected, it...well, it _shattered_. Knocked the breath right out of Bull and he stumbled. He'd braced for the impact, so it didn't catch him off guard the way Cassandra's blow to the face had, but still, it staggered him. And it felt pretty damned good. But, unfortunately, it was too good.

Bull hitched his breath a little, quite certain a rib was cracked, and then stared with his good eye at the broken pieces of wood. Max glanced at the piece in his hand, then tossed it to the ground. "Well, shit. Sorry about that," he said, scratching his head. "I guess I'm used to sturdier material," he added, stating the obvious. He and Bull shared a look, the Qunari almost wondering if Max had some hidden animosity toward him.

Because when he swung, he didn't hold back. Max made a _yikes!_ face, rubbing the back of his neck, and Bull would've laughed at that face if he weren't so irritated.

So Bull huffed instead. Well, fuck. Now what was he going to do? He'd selected that wood specifically for that purpose, made it just the right length and width, and all that work was for nothing. Fuck. But hot _damn_ , that was a good hit. He needed more like _that_. He masked his amazement like second nature behind a bemusing stare. Behind Max, Cassandra had paused long enough in her training with a sword to watch and smiled gloatingly.

Max stood there, gaping at the splintered wood for a moment still. With training obviously now out of the question, Bull shook his head and moved to lean against the wall of the Herald's Rest behind him and sulked, folding his arms. Max followed, moving to lean against it next to him, and popped a question. "Uhm, might I ask, what's the purpose of the training exercise?" he asked, and Bull rolled his eye.

"Mastering fear," he repeated with a growl. It was Max's turn to queue an eyeroll.

"I get that," he drawled. "I meant, what specifically are you trying to accomplish? Where are you trying to get mentally?"

"Out of the fucking Fade," Bull grumbled, and Max sighed a little. Then he shrugged.

"We used to do something similar during Templar training," he remarked. "In order to strengthen our resolve, and increase our chances of resisting demons and blood mages, we would often be subjected to rigorous physical conditioning. I only wondered if the Qun practiced something similar."

Bull shrugged. "Eh, it's something like that, yeah," he said. "It gets you into a certain headspace."

"What sort of headspace?" Max asked, and for once, Bull was not so fond of the Boss's endless interrogations. He usually didn't mind, as Max was just curious about things, liked knowing things, and was genuinely interested in Qunari culture, but this wasn't something Bull could so readily explain. He scratched his head about it for a moment, coming up with an answer. But before he could, Max said, "I have a proposition for you."

Bull glanced down at him, lifting his brow at that. A sly smile slipped in there too. Max shook his head.

"It's not what you're thinking," he said. "Dirty minded brute," he mumbled, making Bull chuckle. "Just...an idea I had. Might be just what you need. I have a feeling it might meet some of the requirements of your 'training exercise', if you're interested." He glanced over at Cassandra, who was no longer paying any attention to them, and resumed her training, but she was still within earshot. "But we can't do it here," he said quietly.

"And you _don't_ expect me to take that as an invitation?" Bull chuckled.

Max huffed disbelievingly at the warrior. "I just don't think anyone would take too kindly to the Inquisitor mercilessly beating the shit out of someone in broad daylight," he said with some derision. "And...uhm," he rubbed the back of his neck. "What I had in mind really...shouldn't be done in public." Bull was just about to make another remark, when Max stopped him again. "Get your mind out of the gutter," he snipped. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Alright, fine. I'll bite. What did you have in mind?" Bull asked.

* * *

Not long after that question had been asked, Bull found himself stewing in his usual spot in the back corner of the Herald's Rest, and for the whole rest of the day he thought about the answer. Well, in a sense, it certainly worked to take his mind off of Adamant, because that day, all he could think about was what the Boss's answer was. And it was a curious one, an answer that only left him with more questions. Cryptic bastard.

But Max was always like that. Never really giving people straight answers to questions. His were always chuck full of sarcasm. If Bull didn't know any better, he'd swear Max was a Qunari spy, because he was that good at deflecting and evading. It impressed him at the best of times, pissed him off at the worst. Shit, the day they met, Max had a snide comment to make that made Bull both like and hate him, without even knowing him yet.

_...'You must be the Iron Bull.'_

_'Hpmh. The horns gave it away?'_

_'Nope. The eyepatch.'..._

But it was one of the many things to admire about the human, aside from Max being the unlucky bastard tasked with the weight of the world.

Of which he excelled at saving, Bull might add.

So, in short, Max's proposition (if one could call it that, considering there was nothing sexual involved) was simply to take Bull to a secluded area of the keep where no one would hear them, for "conditioning". Bull was certain that meant "mercilessly beat the shit out of him" (with something that wouldn't break) until Bull said the magic word, or until he just didn't feel like being beaten anymore.

But Bull wanted to laugh a little at the curious thought he had about it.

See, he'd been on the giving end of such treatment, numerous times. Met many women and men that were into that sort of thing, and Bull was happy to service them (because that shit is hot) but he'd never been on the receiving end. Not like that. Of course, he inadvertantly kept twisting it around in his mind to something sexual, when he shouldn't, because Max implied it was no more sexual than his Qunari training.

But it was mostly because Bull was attracted to him. Had often wondered if Max might ever make a pass at him (he knew Max was attracted to men-that was obvious, he picked up on that shit the day they met on the Coast) but a little to Bull's dismay, he never made any moves (Bull's apparently not his type). Bull supposed what made it unique was the fact that Max would be the one in control in this situation, whereas usually it was Bull.

Bull liked being in control, liked setting the rules, the boundaries, drawing the lines that shouldn't be crossed, and such. He _liked_ that. And he was _used_ to that. So the idea of someone else holding the reins was a little intimidating, he had to admit. He could handle the fact that Max held the fate of the world in the palm of his hand, metaphorically, and literally, and he could handle the fact that he was now the Inquisitor.

He was fine with all that. The Inquisition needed a leader. It needed a higher power to answer to, rather than just a bunch of angry advisors standing around, bickering about shit all day long. It needed structure, something Bull was familiar with. So he was fine with all that. But mostly because even though Max was in charge, Max gave the orders, and Max ultimately decided which way to go, he never leashed Bull. Ever.

"Stop", "Wait", or "Slow Down" were not in his vocabulary. Because the Boss understood that when they charged into the frey, it was fight or die, because (much like Cullen) he was a soldier first, commander second. But though he might lead the army, he never led Bull himself, never put a collar on the beast, just pointed him in the direction of whatever needed killing and let him go. So all that energy, all that rage, had an outlet.

Max was always certain to make sure Bull was aimed at the right people, but he only loosed the cannon. He didn't try to control the impact. Sometimes the warrior worried that one day Max would let him fly completely off the handle, and he'd lose control, lose himself, like he almost did back on Seheron. That one day he'd be pushed too far, and turn on everyone, Max included. That he'd truly be Tal-Vashoth, which wasn't a pleasant thought.

His mission was to get close to the Inquisition, not tear it apart in a bloodrage.

But so far he hadn't, mostly because in the back of his mind he kept all his education catalogued and stored away, as well as having that control over himself rather _kept_ him stable. Max never forced him to fight, Bull's presence on the field was always voluntary. He was in charge, when it came to his actions on the battlefield, and if it got to be too much for him, he could slow down, he could pull back, and no one would force him to fight.

And he could kill all the demons, darkspawn, Vint bastards (no offense Krem) he wanted, at his leizure. Maybe Hissrad was under orders when he was sent to spy on the Inquisition, but the Iron Bull, on the otherhand, could cut loose, and walk away.

That level of control was the happy middle ground to _keep_ him grounded.

It was great. But now, Max made an offer that put Bull in a very precarious position. The Boss would be in charge. Now that...that wasn't a comfort. At all. It was just...unnerving. Something about that exchange set him on edge, and he didn't know why. But Bull was far too curious of where this might lead, so he agreed to it. Max seemed to have a pretty good understanding of where Bull was coming from on this, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad.

He said he had experience with vigorous physical conditioning to strengthen one's mind. Bull was familiar with what he referred to. Most usually it was done with a whip, not a club, in the form of corporal punishment, but same principal. Bull imagined Cullen was quite familiar with this as well (wouldn't be surprised if the Commander was really _into_ the shit too). Templars used physical pain to clear their minds, as well as empower them.

The higher the tolerance, the better the Templar. Oddly, similar to Qunari. Max probably didn't realize how alike they were, and that maybe the only difference between Qunari soldiers and Templars was the religion (or lack thereof). The Qun may be vastly different from the southern Chantry in terms of belief, but the principals were there. Mother Giselle would probably shit bricks if someone were to ever point that out to her.

That one society was no more or less strict than the other. They just used different methods to control their subordinates and keep them in line. The Qun leashed its mages, while the Chantry manipulated its Templars.

But getting back to the point, Bull was rightly concerned about this encounter with Max. He knew what the Iron Bull was capable of, it was the reason why he took Bull everywhere with him, even places Bull didn't want to go (like Adamant) the reason why he so heavily depended on the Iron Bull to fight by his side, to have his back in the field (even if he didn't trust the Qun he ultimately answered to). Because Max knew what Bull could do.

What if Max fucked up, took it too far, and set him off by accident?

They were definitely going to have to talk beforehand about this. Discuss everything in detail. Set limits, boundaries, negotiate, all that. A good thing Max picked a secluded place to do it then, because they could talk freely, and it could stay between them. But it made Bull want to laugh, thinking about it though, because no matter which way he twisted it in his head, it still circled back around to something sexual.

It genuinely felt like kink negotiation.

When he laughed out loud for no reason in the Herald's Rest, people gave him funny looks.

And for some reason, that made him laugh even harder. All these good, saintly people, with their precious ideals and worship of the Maker, praise of the rightous Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor of Thedas, with their pure hearts and minds, had no idea that the Iron Bull was sitting in the corner, thinking about dirty sex talk with Maxwell Trevelyan (their saintly Herald) and how that might play out.

Sunset finally rolled around, and the hour approached.

* * *

_Training session...It's just a training session, Bull...Nothing more than that._

Yeah, no, still didn't help to keep him focused if he repeated that in his head. Might've been easier on his mind if Max had disclosed everything beforehand, because then Bull wouldn't have all this imagination running wild, but he had a feeling the Boss did it on purpose. Giving him so little detail about what he had planned? He was syking Bull up in the process-maybe not necessarily working to make him afraid, but definitely making him wary.

Wary was a good frame of mind to have beforehand, because that was exactly what Max needed to help him get over being. If he went into it completely confident, with no worry on his mind, it wouldn't work. There would be no point whatsoever, he supposed. So it wasn't like Bull was shaking in his boots or something stupid like that, but he was definitely cautious when he ventured into the keep that night. Wary, check.

He hardly ever went inside the main keep at Skyhold. Mostly for meals (he'd eat down in the kitchen, because Josephine always had the most irritating guests seated in the Great Hall, the gossip was never worth the waste of words, and the company was more worthwhile among the staff) sometimes to report to one of the advisors for whatever reason, but that was the extent of it. And at night? Castle was quiet; except for nightwatch, it was pretty empty.

He ducked his head and turned it sideways to fit through the door that led downstairs.

They were meeting in the wine cellar of all places. One of the watchtowers along the wall would've been Bull's preference, but Max threw that idea out the window when he mentioned Cullen's patrols on the battlements often passing through them. Even the one farthest away from the keep was still too close to the barn. Max was convinced the wine cellar downstairs in the lower achelon of the keep was pretty soundproof too.

When Bull asked how he learned that information (hoping to get him to spill about a sexcapade) Max said when he first discovered it, he injured himself, shouted a string of curses at the top of his lungs, and no one ever heard, much less did they ever know he was down there. Disappointing that it wasn't more interesting of a tale, but it was funny. Picturing Max stubbing his toe or something, and streaming expletives.

Also a bit alarming though, to think something could've happened to him down there, and no one would find the body, not until the next time Dorian stole a bottle from Max's vintage collection. Kind of disturbing to think about. Also disturbing to think that no one would find Max's body if Bull snapped and broke his neck or something. Yeah, they definitely had to talk about this. Bull entered the cellar to find Max already inside.

Well, he was still fully dressed, so there was that. Not waiting in his briefs, holding a whip. Just sitting down in the chair, elbows on his knees, scratching his head. When he heard Bull, he looked up, careening his neck to make eyecontact, then stood up. Bull regarded him for a second or two as he walked over to the table in front of him, and pulled something out of a burlap sack. "Happy Satinalia," he quipped, as he held it up fo Bull to see.

Metal, not wood. Looked like it was the handle from a Qunari battleaxe, and Bull wouldn't be surprised if it was. Garanteed not to shatter on impact, but damn that was really gonna smart, expecially if Max used as much brute force to strike him with it as he did the wooden club earlier that day. Bull's eye passed over him for a split second. Max was a big guy for a human, had to be, to wield such a large weapon. Could give the towering Avvar a run for their coin.

He could take as much as he could give too. He'd seen Max get smashed by some of the toughest beasts on the continent and was amazingly still standing afterwards. What Bull wouldn't give to fuck this guy's brains out, as hard as physically possible, just to see if he could take that too...But there he went again, his mind still "in the gutter" as the Boss coined it, and he took a breath, focusing on Max's eyes, rather than his toned figure.

"Right, so, here's how it's gonna work," the Boss struck up, as he let the axe handle fall into his other hand, and now he gripped with both hands. "Simple. You stand over there," he jerked his head, "Put your hands on that wall, and I beat you with this. Your hands come off the wall, I stop. Sound good?" He lifted a single dark brow, and patiently waited for Bull's input on that. Bull leaned his head, glancing at the wall, then down at the axe handle.

Sounded pretty good actually. Max was right, it was simple, no complexity at all.

And not any more sexual than being beaten with a club in broad daylight outside the Herald's Rest. It did well to set limits too. Bull's limits. Max was the one with the weapon in his hand, but Bull was still in control. He liked that. He mulled it over still though, rubbing his chin with a thumb and forefinger. There was a reason they needed privacy, Bull knew that. There was a reason Bull was apprehensive in the first place.

"Might be better if you restrain me first," he suggested. "And instead of taking my hands off the wall, maybe a watchword instead, you know, like a codeword, or some kind of verbal queue." Max grimaced a little.

"I'd rather not," he said. "Watchword? Sure, suits me fine. Whatever you prefer. Restraints?" He winced a little. "Unless it's absolutely necessary to acquire the needed results, which clearly it isn't, otherwise Cassandra would've tied you up first, correct?"

"Heh, there's a mental picture," Bull remarked, and Max snorted. "Well, no, she didn't have to, but Cassandra can't hit me hard enough to actually piss me off, just aggravate the shit out of me, really." Max nodded as if he understood, then let his eyes roam over Bull for a moment as he considered that option. True, that Max was big, but Bull was bigger. And older. And more experienced. No doubt he'd outmatch the Inquisitor in a serious fight.

If things got out of hand, he could seriously hurt the Boss, no matter how tough his exterior might be.

"Well, it's either this, or let you beat the ever loving shit out of me until you get your head on straight," Max told him, "And I like this option better."

"Yeah, so do I," Bull admitted. Actually liked it a lot. Didn't like facing the wall though, couldn't anticipate the blows when they came. But he could brace himself more easily for the impact. "I gotta say, I do like where you're going with this," he said, glancing at the wall in question. "But just let me get some shackles and come back." He chuckled. "I learned from experience, rope doesn't cut it-"

"No," Max interrupted, face screwing up into a scowl the second the word 'shackles' left Bull's lips. Interesting, Bull thought to himself, seeing the Boss's reaction, trying to determine it's meaning. "No restraints, Bull."

And suddenly Bull didn't feel so in control here. But hey, Max had to draw some lines in the sand at some point, he supposed.

"I understand your concerns," Max then added, just as Bull opened his mouth to argue. "And you're right, it's always risky when you're intentionally agitating a person and purposefully inciting rage to channel fear in the process. Physical pain can make a person react in a lot of unpleasant ways, and you, specifically, have a shorter fuse than most, so if I'm going to mentally syke you up, Bull, then I'm prepared to-"

"So then you-" _Actually get it_ , he meant to finish.

"Ah, just hear me out," Max interrupted a second time, holding up a hand, to which it was Bull's turn to scowl. "I'm prepared for that. All I'm saying is, if that's your only concern, then don't worry about it. Worst case scenario, I agitate you too much, you snap and go off, and I suck you up into a Fade rift," he said, holding up his left hand, the hand the Fade magic spewed out of, making the Qunari bristle a little. "Trust me Bull," he chuckled. "I've got this."

He thought about that for a moment. Max made a good point. If he was pushed too far, perhaps the only option _would_ be to kill him. If he was that far gone, restraints probably wouldn't matter anyway. It was a good test. To see if he truly had it in him to get past this, to move forward, without going completely off the handle. Also, the thought of Max sucking him up into a Fade rift did the trick to renew that crippling fear he was trying to overcome.

He was trying to get his mind out of the Fade. The last thing he wanted was to be sent back to it. Boundaries, check.

"Alright, we'll give it a try," Bull tentatively agreed, and Max smirked.

"Well, right then, up against the wall, and let's take a crack at it, shall we?"

Bull took a deep breath, slightly more visibly unnerved than intended.

Well, this was it then.

Time to get over shit, huh?

He clicked his tongue, eye passing over the enclosure first. Privacy, check. Sound proof, tentative check? Room was vaulted enough to stand up straight in, check. However the space itself was narrow. Made him leery. He wasn't claustrophobic, but Max might be in about five minutes. If he was stuck inside a tiny space with someone so big, and unstable. He stepped toward the patch of wall beyond the chair and table.

He placed his hands on it. Cold surface, maybe a little porous, no mold though. Just hard thick stone, and his bare hands on it. Actually felt pretty good. "You let me know when you're ready," Max said behind him, and he nodded. He took a few short, but deep breaths. "Ready?" Max asked, and he nodded. He expected an immediate swing, but that wasn't what he got. He tensed when he felt the cold metal of the axe handle touch bare skin.

He was feeling around first, poking the muscle, and Bull knew he was searching for the sweetspot. The section of his back that had the thickest layer of muscle, and the least amount of bone, perfect for repetative strikes, and least likely to cause permanent damage. Would've been easier if they were facing one another, chest or stomach would be fine, but with his back exposed (and his _spine_ ) Max had to be more careful.

At least Bull could now predict the strikezone, even if he couldn't anticipate the blows. Once Max seemed satisfied, he gave the axe handle a few test swings, and Bull heard the whistling whip of a sound it made in the air, almost like a wind chime, or a flute, but not quite as hallow. Okay, so he might be able to predict the swings too, he surmised. He took a few deep breaths, and then braced.

THWACK!

Bull grunted a little in response to the first hit, every muscle in his torso drawing tight on impact. Not as hard as that hit with the club in the courtyard, barely more than the Seeker's hits, but it was a test swing really, just Max warming up, making sure he wasn't going to hit anything vital by accident. But the next blow came without warning, and it was hard. With a zing, and a _thwap!_ the metal crashed against his back, and he winced a little.

This was why they needed privacy. So that Bull could be loud if he wanted, express his pain, his frustration, or his anger, with no one to see it, and no one to think less of him. No one to impress, or offend, by his actions. No one but the Boss. And normally, Bull would have to syke himself up verbally, to put him in that headspace, but amazingly, he was already there. Max's next swing almost knocked the air out of his lungs, and he growled.

See, there are different types of pain one can experience. Some physical pain can incite pleasure (such as a slap to the ass, or a pinched nipple), sometimes it's sexual gratification, the type of pain that gets you hard as a rock and ready to fuck, or sometimes it's mental gratification (it distracts you from other things, or incites feeling where none is usually present) And some levels of pain act as a release of _all_ emotion...but then there was _Max's_ level of pain.

There was just something about the way the Boss struck Bull that did the trick.

See, it pissed him off, imeasureably, reaching the core of the emotion tucked away in the back of his skull, bordering on rage. No, the Iron Bull didn't need to syke himself up (like he would if say, for example, someone like Cassandra beat him with a wooden stick). Because the Iron Bull was officially _mad_. Another hit came swiftly, and crashed against his back. Okay, now that one was more like the swing in the courtyard.

It continued for a while, one swing after another, almost rhythmic, like beating a drum, that same crack of the handle flooring him each time it struck his back, and with each hit, pounding away the memory of the Fade, of demons, of all that fear and insecurity he felt, and he'd started to wonder why he was ever afraid at all. Because the Iron Bull was back, in full force, gritting his teeth and baring every swing with little more than a grunt.

He could take it. He could survive it. He could survive damned near anything. He survived Adamant. He'd survived demons, darkspawn, blighted bears, rogue Templars, wild apostates, _dragons_. Why was he ever afraid? And if he could survive all that he could damn well survive anything else the Inquisition threw his way. Yeah, Bull was starting to feel good, reaching that plateau, that happy middle ground between pain and rage that was...

...Pure pleasure.

But then...Max swung _harder_.

Bull let out an angry growl when Max swung the axe handle much harder than he had before (Bull suddenly making the connection that Max had never been using his full strength to begin with, and had actually been holding back) And it took him by surprise. Things took a turn for the worst when he felt that last hit crack against his spine, because that hit did something to him. Something he didn't think possible.

It _hurt_!

Damn did it smart!

With a snarl, Bull's hands left the wall when he pushed himself off of it, whirling around. "Alright, that's enough!" he barked as he turned, heart racing, blood surging through his veins, nostrils flaring, his voice loud and echoing, like a war horn through the tiny space between them. Another reason for privacy. Because Bull just snapped at the Inquisitor like a petulant child, balling his hands into fists.

In one fluid move, Max dropped the axe handle and it fell to the floor with a clatter, he backed up in step, and threw up both hands in surrender.

This...also took Bull by surprise.

Something about the way Max submitted to Bull tempered his anger a little, and just made him feel...powerful. Standing over the man, who ducked his head a little in a nod. Strange...There was a solid ten seconds of silence between them as Bull stood over Max, huffing breathlessly, and worked out the emotions in his mind, debating on what to do. His skin tingled as the rage boiled over within him, but had no outlet.

Yeah. Yeah, Bull was back alright, in that ten seconds of silence. He remembered who he was, what he was capable of, and where he fit in the grand scheme of things. The Iron Bull was not a fragile, vulnerable person cowering behind a whip. No, no the Iron Bull was purely a force of nature, ready to snap the Boss's neck. He was a fucking _beast_! Max's eyes lowered submissively for a second, but...then they peered upward again, from under dark lashes, with a curious look.

And suddenly Bull wasn't quite so angry either.

Bull blinked in confusion, when he saw something in Max's eyes he couldn't readily describe. The way his eyes dilated, and his breath caught, from...fear? No, wait, it wasn't fear, it was...

The corner of Max's lip twitched, slightly, like he was fighting a smirk.

As if...he _liked_ this side of the Iron Bull.

Like he was getting off on this shit, and trying to hide it.

Well damn. That was...that was kind of hot. Bull exhaled, tearing his eye away from the Boss and stilling his racing heart with deep breaths. Max didn't say a word, just watched Bull calm his breathing for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists, before flopping down on the chair nearby, smearing a hand across his face. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, made him feel exhausted just then, like he'd run clear across Thedas and back.

Quietly, and gingerly, the Inquisitor moved to sit on the table across from him, scooting back, then lacing his fingers in his lap.

Bull swallowed.

"Did it work?" Max finally asked. Bull grunted.

"Don't know yet."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I want to kill something."

Max chuckled a little. "That's the Bull we know and love," he quipped. "I'd say it worked then. What do you say you and I go let some of that anger out, hmm?"

"What do you have in mind?"

Max shrugged. "Sparring yard?"

Bull chuckled. Then he slowly shook his head. "I'd break you in half," he said, and could've swore he saw a little hunger in Max's eyes at that statement. Like he salivated at the idea of fighting Bull. _This guy's just as fucked up as me_ , Bull thought cheekily. _Damn, what I wouldn't give to fuck him_. Of course, even if he could, with all the pent up rage twisting in his gut, sex would probably kill Max too. He sighed. So did Max.

Then he stood up, and strolled over to the shelf nearby. "How about a drink instead?" he offered. Then cursed. "Dammit Pavus, why do you have to steal all my fucking wine, you thieving Vint?!" He growled, and Bull chuckled. "I swear every time I come down here, he follows me and slips in when I'm not looking. Sneaky fucker." What a mouth Max had on him, huh? Another reason to like him. He swiped two bottles from the shelf.

He waltzed back around the corner with an easy swagger in his step, like a Rivaini pirate, and held a bottle out for Bull. "Here," he said. "This _might_ take the edge off." Bull snorted, and took the wine offered. Some of the Boss's stronger stuff. He read the label before tearing off the cork with his teeth, then took a sip. Not half bad. Had a _little_ bit of a bite to it. Max flopped back down on the table, propping a leg, and letting the other swing.

He gave his own bottle a glance, then read the description. "West Hill Brandy. Notes of blackcurrent, with a honeysuckle finish. Also, tastes like brandy." He shrugged, then ripped off the cork, taking a sip, immediately spitting it back out. "Blackcurrent my ass!" he exclaimed. Then he checked the label again.

"What's it taste like?" Bull asked, overly curious. Max's face turned red, and he supressed a laugh, glancing up at the ceiling.

"It tastes like cum," he reluctantly admitted. It was Bull's turn to laugh, the tension falling completely from his shoulders. Max shook his head a little, then took another drink. "Okay, yeah, cum with a bit of honeysuckle," he added. "It's actually not bad."

"Brewed and bottled by the prettiest elves in Thedas," Bull remarked, and Max choked on his drink.

The two melted into laughter, which dissolved after a time into companionable silence, and Bull learned something about Max that night. Well, several things actually.

Mostly, how much more he liked the Boss now.

More than before.

Maybe coming to Max with his problems was actually a good thing.

A really good thing.

He wanted to do it _again_.

Yeah, this definitely changed some things between them.

Bull deflated a little, leaning back in the chair, and letting out a sigh. He stretched out his legs, hooking one ankle over the other, just as Max leaned back against the wall behind him. He watched the Inquisitor set down the bottle and fish something out of his pocket. A little velvet drawstring bag filled with dried elfroot and a sleeve of paper. Not writing paper. Something called rolling paper, with which he used to smoke elfroot.

Yeah. The Inquisitor smoked that shit. He had Josephine put in orders for rolling paper, shipped from Orlais, rolled up elfroot and smoked it. Not like Orlesians smoked their fancy cigarettes, with those long thin filters attached, but just plain elfroot in paper, instead of a pipe. It clicked in Bull's mind that this was probably how he recovered from the battle in the Western Approach. Laid around in that big bedroom of his and got high.

Made sense. He sipped his bottle of amber liquor while he watched Max roll the bits of leafy green into the paper, then pulled out a match, striking it, then lighting the end of the paper. He took a few puffs, then offered it to Bull, who shook his head. Max shrugged, then continued puffing on it, pinching the vice between two fingers. Bull would partake, but he'd rather have a clearer head at the moment, as he still had a few things to ask about.

"So, you want to talk about it?" Max asked, and Bull shook his head. The Boss nodded his own, meaning he wasn't going to pry. No need to. Mission a sucess, Bull was no longer concerned with what happened, but instead wanted to talk about other things. He sipped on his bottle, slowly, as to not become too loose at the buckles and let something slip that he shouldn't, but just inebriated enough to be comfortable.

"So, I gotta ask," he struck up. "Why aren't you screwing Dorian?"

Max snorted. "Why aren't you?" he countered.

"How do you know I'm not?" Bull answered with a smirk, and Max made a face as if to say, "Good point."

Then he shrugged. "He's too pretty," he answered, and Bull lifted a brow. "Not to say he's too feminine, more like...he's too delicate."

Bull chortled a little. "Delicate," he repeated, incredulously.

"He's too obsessed with his appearance," Max told him. "Not that there's anything wrong with his appearance, or anything wrong with the way he fusses over said appearance, I just don't think...Well, I don't think he'd be all that much fun, really." Max shrugged again. "I think he'd electrocute me if I so much as dared to ruffle one feather of his. Now...a man like Blackwall? Or Cullen? They're like you and me, they don't mind getting a few _bruises_ here or there."

He smirked a little, then took another puff, holding in the smoke for a few seconds, before letting it out in a sigh. So the Boss liked to leave _bruises_ , huh? Well no wonder he didn't want to play with the Vint. Dorian probably wouldn't mind a few "love marks", as he liked to call them, but he wouldn't be so fond of permanent damage, not something that couldn't be healed immediately with a little magic.

It implied that the way Maxwell Trevelyan liked to get his rocks off was beyond what most would consider "crude".

It made Bull overly curious about him now, expecially after seeing that look on his face that night. This was a side of the Boss he'd never been aware of before, because he'd never had a reason to make himself aware of it.

"What makes you think the Vint wouldn't appreciate a little rough handling, eh?" he asked, with an easy smile, and Max chuckled, shaking his head.

"Oh sure, I bet he'd be all for _your_ idea of a good time, but..." He tipped back his bottle, taking a large swig. "But not for mine," he then told Bull, who hummed a little at that statement. "I hear you two bickering all the time, why not just drag Dorian into bed already? I mean it's obvious there's something between you two. Why continue to beat around the bush?" Max then asked, and Bull considered his answer.

He'd thought about it, quite a bit. Was awfully curious about the mage, but...at the moment, he was more curious about Max.

"It's fun," he shrugged. "I have this feeling _you'd_ be more fun though."

Max snorted. He neglected to comment, however.

Bull took another drink, then considered his next question carefully.

"That blank space, on that headstone," he began, and watched Max's expression sober a little, eyes becoming glaringly alert just then, and he flexed his jaw. He knew precisely what Bull refered to. What they saw in the Fade. "Was it really blank? Or was it something only you could read?" he asked. "Something only meant for you to see?" For a moment, he thought the Boss might get angry, but he didn't, to Bull's amazement.

Instead he tipped his head back, slowly grinned, this strange sort of smile that made Bull tense a little in discomfort. There was something about that smile that unnerved him. It wasn't a friendly smile. More like the smile of a Vint, right before they killed someone. Unsettling. Slowly, and lazily, he replied with, "You want to know what I'm afraid of." He took a puff of elfroot, gleaming eyes never leaving Bull's.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Yeah, I'm curious."

Max's smile widened. "To know a man's deepest fear, is to know his greatest weakness," he said. "I bet the Qunari would be _very_ interested to know what mine is." He stood up just then, and started toward the door, puffing on his elfroot still. "Night, Bull," he said, and marched out of the room, taking his brandy with him. Bull sighed and ducked his head.

Shit.

"Night, Boss," he mumbled.

Of course Max wouldn't share that with him.

He might like Bull, might consider him a friend, but he didn't like who Bull reported to. He might trust the Iron Bull to have his back in the field, but he didn't trust the Qunari. Even though Bull would never share that information unless he felt it necessary, Max would never divulge it to begin with, to protect his own ass. Smart man. Made Bull feel like shit just then though. Because he realized something just then.

He realized that he liked Max. Really liked him, not just what he represented to people, but him, individually, as a man, he truly did.

Liked him enough to never ask that question, ever again.

He drained the rest of his bottle, the liquor suddenly not tasting quite as good as it did before, then he left the wine cellar, sparing one final glance at the axe handle still laying on the floor where it dropped.

He shook his head, beginning to suspect that he and the Inquisitor were more alike than one might intitially guess.

He didn't know if that was much of a comfort though.

Because it wasn't only the Iron Bull he resembled.

It was Hissrad.

And that bothered him more.

**Author's Note:**

> Can anyone guess what Maxwell's gravestone means?


End file.
